30 years Later
by RegalPrincessOfMagic
Summary: A thoughtful letter written by Arthur Kipps to his late wife Stella 30 years after her death.


Dear Stella,

It has been thirty years now; thirty years since you…

It sounds like a long time, doesn't it? But it seems like only yesterday that you...

Well, it is a long time; I have a house, a family, a well-paid job. But I still remember you, and our son, and the life we had and could've had. It's a shame. But still, it's been thirty years; I feel I need to tell you about them.

I don't know how you would react to this, but you loved me, and I'm sure you still do, so you would be happy if I'm happy. Well, I have a wife, Esmѐ, and she makes me happy. I am happy with her, just as I was happy with you. She reminds me of you. It is most probably why I married her. She doesn't look like you; I don't think anything nor anyone could be as beautiful as you were. But she is still beautiful. She is of a suitable height for a woman, finely built and with a graceful frame. She has hair of a lovely light brown, although now, with age, it is threaded with grey. That doesn't matter to me; it only symbolises how long we've been married, and to be honest, age is taking its toll on me far more than on dear Esmѐ. She was married before me. To a sea captain. Esmѐ was widowed at a young age; broken hearted. She'd lost her loved one. Even worse, she had four children to nurture and watch over- Isobel, Oliver, Will and Edmund. She again reminds me of us; although this time not you. I guess that is what drew me to her in the first place, the fact that she had lost her life's love forever. I had lost my life's love to death. To the dark crevices of the other, veiled world. I saw my pain within her, both still fresh with the images and memories vivid in our minds. But I guess what happened was that we found comfort in that, the fact that we had both lost so much. We could empathise for each other, feel one another's despair and help soothe it.

I mentioned that she had four children. I shall now proceed to describe them to you as I hold them dear to my heart and treat them as my own:

The eldest is Isobel, and it is obvious. Her calm and motherly nature marks her as the eldest of the four, evident in her inclination to oversee her brothers, and indeed her own children. Sensible, level headed and with the plump, settled air of a matron- I supposed Isobel would be the most responsible of daughters, mothers and wives, charming and affectionate, and having found her ideal partner in the similar natured Aubery Pearce. I must tell you, Esmѐ has voiced to me occasionally, of course gently and only to me, her longing for Isobel to be less staid, a little more spirited, maybe even frivolous. I'll have you know that I could have never wished for a better step daughter, and I'm sure her husband, children, brothers and mother would whole heartedly agree with me.

The second eldest is Oliver, after him Will by fourteen months. Now, I must confess, those boys are much the opposite of their sister; Young, exuberant and showing much too few signs of maturity for young men in their first year at Cambridge. But again, I couldn't have wished for more. Of course at nineteen, Oliver and Will would be immature, juvenile and childish, but at heart I know they are serious, sober young men. It is perhaps what makes them so likable; their ability to be serious, but playful at the same time; a perfect balance of child and adult.

Now, the last member of the family is perhaps the most intriguing. Edmund. Somewhat separated from the rest of us, I realised I won't, nor might ever, manage to understand the boy- but this doesn't give me cause to love him even less; in fact, his innate fastidiousness, reserve and desire to be somewhat private has been reason for me to feel more affectionate towards him. Not only is Edmund singled out hypothetically, but physically. His siblings and mother sported good, plain, open English faces, inclined to roundness and with hair, eyebrows and lashes of a light chestnut brown. However, fifteen year old Edmund- pale skinned, long nosed, hair of an extraordinary ebony black and clear blue eyes. It is strange, his drastic dissimilarity to his relatives.

There, I have finished describing our somewhat cosy little family. Although, you couldn't really say little. Already, it has grown, what with Isobel's children. But here is the subject of children, which brings me to my next question, which up till now I've had no courage whatsoever to ask.

How is our boy?

Is he growing like he should? Can little boys even grown in… in the other world?

I wonder if they can… because if they can, then I could join you. I would love to watch our son grow into the fine young man, find gentleman and fine elderly man he could've.

I would join you. In fact, I could join you right now. But you wouldn't want that, would you? I mean, we both already know the value of life. How it's a precious little flame that with the smallest gust could be blown into the sinking, eternity of dark death. I remember realising that. I remember it vividly. But do you know what makes it so bad? The knowledge of what blew out _your _flame. And it was my entire fault…

I wonder if I should tell you. I mean, I highly doubt you wouldn't believe me. You are one of the other world now too, so you would easily believe me. And besides, I don't think there has ever been a time you've doubted me. So I resolve… I shall tell you. But tell me first, do you believe in ghost stories?

It all started with the Drablow affair. I trust you remember it? Of course you do, you never forgot anything. As you know, Mr Bentley sent me in order to sort out her will and other, lawful papers. But what you don't know- or rather, didn't know, as you probably know everything now- that the affair was far more… sinister than it seemed. I must be honest though, I should've taken the warnings, noticed the troubled murmurings behind my back of an unnatural presence. But you'll recall me at the time- no nonsensical, determined and most ambitious; of course I wasn't going to allow some old wives tale or silly superstition get in the way of my, our future.

Eel Marsh House- As cold, ominous and callous as the cruel marshes surrounding it. I should've turned back then. I know I should've. But I didn't. Spider- warm, comforting, my rock in that time of distress, trepidation, _terror_. People have always said that animals were more receptive to the supernatural world. Again, her fear and anxiety should've been enough to drive me away. But no. I stayed on. Then, in the nursery. It sounds like a safe place, doesn't it? A place where a mother can nurture her child, where she can watch him grow and learn. It's a place of happiness and unconditional love. Do you remember your nursery? I remember mine. I remember my nurse too. Kind, motherly and caring. My mother even more so. In a way, this nursery was no different. Littered with a child's playthings- but there was a sense of sadness in it. Some sort of pain or despair that had lived and still lived within the very walls of the room. That wasn't where she was though. Where _she _was, was a thought far more terrifying.

_The boys screams and the cries of help echoing from the drowned marshes ahead. The raw screeches of a mother torn from her child. She watched, watched her boy, her little darling slowly sink into the grey quicksand, his pure and less than half filled life slowly slipping away, out of her grasp. Then, silence. She yelled, screamed, tore at herself as she came to terms with the events. It was over. The reason for her very existence was gone. She remembered his laugh, jingling in her ear. It was gone, she would never hear it again. __**He **__was silenced. And yet, it was the loudest silence yet…_

Yes, a story of a boy drowned in the marshes years ago, his mother heartbroken to the point of death and beyond. Her lust for revenge still present in the world. And that my love, is where my story reaches the point when it becomes unbearable. You see, if I had not tampered with such unholy things- actually, I shall not call it _unholy_. For it had been a mothers love for her child and pain for his lost soul that had caused these events. But they hadn't caused them. _I _had caused them. If I had left things to be; realised from the very beginning that I should've minded my own business (please forgive the pun), then you would still be with me. You _and _him- our son.

And that is the end of my letter. Remember the letters we used to send to each other? Those were brief. But I suppose the time we spent separate at the time was brief. But now, thirty years, such a long time, and so for that matter, such a long letter. I'm sure you probably know all of this, but it shall please me to know that in my heart, I haven't forgotten you, and that someday, for this day will come soon I am certain, we will be together again in eternity. I always have, always do and always will love you my sweet Stella.

With eternal love

Arthur


End file.
